Coming Apart at the Seams
by Maegatr0n
Summary: WARNING: This is going to be extremely violent. If you have read the book, you might have some idea of just how violent it may get, and how sexual. This is NOT for the faint of heart. A look into the mind of Patrick Bateman and his sick obsessions. What happens when you lock another monster in the same room with him? A look into the dark minds of two psychopaths.


I just want to reiterate that this will be extremely violent, extremely graphic, and extremely disturbing. If you don't think you can handle it, turn back now to avoid bleeding from your eyes.

I am not totally sure where I am going with this story, but I started writing it a while back. Please submit reviews, as it keeps me writing, and formulating new ideas. 3

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Night

Tonight is a normal night. I am seeking to quench this thirst for blood, but I doubt I will find anything that strikes my fancy. I am heading to the Black Rose Bar, which is probably a low class slut bar filled with bitches looking to get their rocks off or perhaps make a few bucks. I had heard the name dropped a few times, and thought that perhaps it wouldn't be a bad place to check out…for what I was looking for.

The bar itself was not bad. It was a late gothic period piece of art, this bar. And the people inside were painted like that couple that Evelyn had brought around a while back. Disgusting, so much paint, so much fragrance, as if they were trying to kill anyone who dared enter the bar. I found myself ordering drinks. I was wearing my Armani suit, black, with a small silver Rolex to keep it casual. I was most proud of the new shoes I was wearing, a fine pair of black Tistoni's. Not only are they over thirty thousand dollars, I had them custom made with a silver buckle. Gold is tacky, and might attract the wrong type of attention in this part of town, filled with "home boys" and the like.

The women here obviously did not care about fashion. Most of their clothing was normal, tacky shit that they probably got from Macy's or something of the sort. Totally not my crowd. I am talking to a blond girl, nice tits, not so great frame. But who knows. We are standing towards one another as if we are doing so. I am sipping on my beer, scanning the crowd. I must have told the girl to follow me, because at some point her hand was in my right hand, and another blond with amazing tits was in my left. (Christine is what I called this one attached to my left side.) When we all were seated in the back of the limo, we were in the same positions. I was being fondled by Christine, and this…other girl….was just there. Staring Christine up and down…as if..hungry. I wondered if this was perhaps why I had invited her. A little heavier than usual, but nothing piggish. Definitely interested in something that Christine could give her. I was curious to see what exactly that was.

I did a line of coke at some point, I think, during the night. So did Christine. Not sure about the other girl, I still can't seem to understand why she is here. I look her over once. Christine has her mouth on my cock, and me and the other girl…are just staring at one another. A shiver ran down my spine as her blue eyes seemed to deepen.

The limo stopped outside of my building and we walked to the elevator together. Christine was definitely out of control, and her constant chattering and touching was getting on my nerves. I closed my eyes as the elevator doors closed, and nearly moaned as I thought about stripping the flesh off of this girls face and cumming on her busted eye sockets. When I open my eyes again, that _girl_ is stills staring.

"What am I supposed to call you?" I ask harshly, hoping to make her talk. Her eyes glisten, and she murmurs,

"Tonight, you can call me Sadie." I am taken aback by this. Her voice, smooth as silk, reminds me of the voice I used on bitches like Christine, who don't know shit about the hungry world out there. I take a moment to think about the name, which immediately reminds me of the Beatles.

The elevator doors open and we walk to my suite. I open the door and usher the two girls in. I look them up and down as they walk in. Christine is wearing a pair of pumps that are coral colored DKNY shoes. They look terribly tacky, which is when I notice Sadie is wearing a pair of Christian Louboutin. I actually do let out a moan, as her shoes may be almost as expensive as my own. I close the door behind the ladies and lock it soundly.

Christine has taken a seat where I have directed her, on the couch with a glass of champaigne in her hand. She seems out of sorts, probably from the coke, and I walk behind the girls, observing them as I run my hand against the couch. Sadie's blue eyes are not focused on me, but on Christine. There is a scowl across her lips, and I can't understand why.

Why the hell did she come home with us? I wonder.

"Sadie, I want you to take off that dress you are wearing."

Sadie looks at me, and stands. Christine's eyes follow her as she slips off the black dress and lets it fall to the floor. My tight control slipped for a moment as I saw the straps of the lingerie from the Agent Provocateur Soiree that I had seen in a high class magazine the other day. Christine didn't seem to care or notice. But I felt my erection grow. Hunger, greed, power.

Sadie steps out of her dress and starts towards me. She puts her hands on my shoulders and places pressure there, imploring me to sit on the couch next to Sadie. Something wild is going on in Sadie's eyes, and I allow her to take off my belt and lay it next to her.

"Christine, you should take off your clothing." I snap at the other girl, who has been just sitting there, twiddling her fucking thumbs. Sadie's mouth is hot as she places it on my cock, and her eyes roll back with pleasure as my cock slides all the way into her throat. The blood lust is pulsing through me as I stare at Christine, who is slow and fumbling with her dress. I look down at Sadie, who moans as she continues to expertly drive me into her throat. I grab her dirty blond hair tightly, shoving her all the way down my length. I keep her there and turn my attention to Christine.

"Don't just sit there, lick her cunt, bitch." Christine seems taken aback by this harsh comment, but does what I say. Sadie looks horrified as the girl gets down on her knees and moves to touch Sadie with her tongue.

Something flashes in the girl's eyes, and I watch, in a daze, as Sadie turns and slams her fist into the girl's stomach. I stand up, not sure what to do in this sort of situation.

"Stop." I say simply, unable to think of an appropriate statement. Sadie ignores me, and continues to punch Christine over and over again until the woman is on her back and blood is pouring from her chest. I take a few steps towards the open bar in the living room and pick up a knife. But while I watch Sadie continually beat the dead hooker, I feel my desire continually climbing. Sadie had blood on her hands, it had sprayed onto her face and tits, and I grasped my cock as Sadie grabbed Christine's head and twisted it until there was an audible crack.

Her chest is heaving from the exertion, and she is covered in bloody pulp. She doesn't look at me yet, she just stares at her hands and slowly regards the thing that was Christine. I don't say a word, my hand covering a painfully strong erection. When she turns and looks up at me, I almost lose my grip and orgasm right then and there. Her eyes are dark, sinister, passionate, hating, confused…but lacking one thing. Guilt.

I know that look that she has. I had it as I burned some girls eyes out and proceeded to fuck her eye sockets. I know because I was staring into the mirror, admiring my perfect body and the red that was sprayed all over my toned skin. The pleasure is probably reaching her thighs now as she straddles the dead body. We stare at one another now, a certain understanding. A meeting of similar souls, if I believed in shit like that. No, this was the animal that was the mirrored me.

I grab her by the hair and drag her away from the body, which she has inconsiderately ripped into on my very, VERY expensive white cashmere rug. She doesn't seem to be struggling as I drag her towards my bed and push her onto it. I slap her across the face and she moans, which was quite unexpected.

Her eyes were filled with part terror, and partly that sick satisfaction I see in my own eyes. That animalistic need to tear, rip, and gut.


End file.
